


Miss Elizabeth

by elisewrites



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Parent Rio (Good Girls), Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-11 00:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19519768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisewrites/pseuds/elisewrites
Summary: “Marcus, can I get you something to drink?” She asks softly, and he perks his head up from where he was fiddling with his hands to meet her eyes, giving her an eager nod of his head.And she knows, because, evidently, they’re skilled at reading each other’s minds, that he’s thinking of their position in this kitchen all those weeks ago when she had invited him back home with her. When she had attempted to stifle the nerves running ramped in her gut by offering him something to eat without really having anything to give him but herself.| |Rio drops by with an important favor to ask of Beth.





	Miss Elizabeth

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this little diddy before the season finale moseyed on in and crushed every potential dream i was holding for these two. i didn't want to scrap it because i still like it, but the tone of it is so clearly ante-2x13 that i know it won't fit anywhere in the realm of my current series' storyline. i believe i wrote this piece somewhere between 2x7 and 2x10, so consider this an emotional break from the canon timeline if you so wish.

The first thing Beth Boland hears when she reaches the bottom of the staircase, a full basket of laundry clasped in her hands and a night’s worth of sleep deprivation hanging heavy on her shoulders, is the metallic sound of a lock slotting out of its chamber and the familiar creek of the back door opening.

Although she really ought to be accustomed to having her home trespassed upon by now, she freezes despite herself and grapples with her involuntary shock to prevent dropping the basket of clothing. She rounds the wall bordering the staircase with cautious footsteps, peeking her head into her kitchen to spot the all-too-familiar silhouette of a certain gang member easing the door closed again. It takes her a moment and a few rapid blinks as her eyes adjust in the darkness to pick up on a second silhouette, one at least half the height of Rio’s with its hand extended to the side, clutching his in a firm grasp.

She releases a hefty sigh, her shoulders sagging as she gingerly places the laundry basket on the ground and locates the light switch closest to her on the wall. The kitchen ignites in a soft glow as half the overheads flicker on, and her eyes instantly seek out Rio’s as they stand parallel to each other, neither speaking for a stifling few seconds as the air seems to crackle with electricity between them.

“Elizabeth,” He addresses her simply, breaking the silence and regarding her with a guarded expression. His plump lips settle into an impassive line and his eyes are hooded yet heedful, like he’s trying to judge whether she’s about to hear him out or march him right out the way he came by the collar of his shirt.

She can’t completely snuff out the sensations that arise in her at the sound of her name exiting his mouth, that gravelly voice she can’t shake from her subconscious mind filling her ears like sand. Nor can she deny the ache she feels deep in her chest at the sight of Rio in her kitchen for the first time in what must be months, but she shelves her emotions to be examined at a later time. Rather than return Rio’s acknowledgement, she averts her gaze from his and drops it to the tiny human occupying the space next to the kitchen island. The boy drops his father’s hand to cast a wave at Beth, his mouth curling into a toothy grin when she smiles warmly at him. She takes three steady steps forward, intentionally ignoring the heavy weight of Rio’s presence beside them as she crouches down, making herself eye level with Rio’s child.

“Hi there, sweetie. What’s your name?” She asks, her tone nurturing and gentle as the boy’s mahogany eyes dart up to his father, as if seeking confirmation to disclose his own name. She doesn’t look away from the boy, but catches the movement of a curt nod in her peripheral as Rio wordlessly reassures his son.

“My name is Beth,” she adds as his gaze falls back on her, the same warm smile spread across her face as the boy’s expression clears of doubt.

He exposes a toothy grin once again before responding, “I’m Marcus. I like your name.”

Beth feels her smile expand into a full-fledged grin at his comment. “I like your name, too. It’s very nice to meet you, Marcus.”

Beth’s attention is drawn away from the little boy at the sound of a throat being cleared, and she tilts her head to peer up at Rio from behind her lashes. His expression appears minutely softer than it had been when he first arrived, but the air of impatience he exudes prompts her to rise back to her full height, but not before casting another smile at Marcus.

True to fashion, he skips any and all formalities, cutting right to the chase as soon as he has her full attention.

“I got a favor to ask you.”

She makes a noise somewhere between a humorless chuckle and a grunt, but swallows any other derogatory response when she sees his solemn expression.

“What is it?” She settles on, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Work situation I gotta handle. It’s urgent, and I ain’t got time to drag a babysitter over,” He explains, his eyes not wavering from Beth’s as she glances between him and Marcus, reading between the lines to find what he’s asking of her. She doesn’t respond for a minute, at a loss for words with the sudden weight of his request and the trust sewn within it. Then, all at once, the only response that seems appropriate for such a situation knocks her off-kilter with the bout of emotion lining it.

“Why me?” Her voice off-balance with the burden behind the question, on the brink of cracking into a million shards of glass.

Inevitably, a wave of nostalgia for the life she had sworn off washes over her as she utters the same question she had posed to him all those weeks ago. A wave of nostalgia for him, for the life full of ambiguity she craved to call her own, and for what they could have become if their lives didn’t so viciously oppose each other.

Hiding behind the primal want she feels for Rio is the deep-seated need she bears to be filled with the adrenaline, uncertainty, trepidation, and fear in the life he had offered up to her.

As often as she admonishes herself for wanting that life back, forcing herself to recall the solitary tenor of an empty home, she should feel guilty with the knowledge that she thrived leading such an illicit lifestyle. She should feel ashamed of all of these things and the desire to experience them one more time but she just doesn’t.

“Figured since you went back to playin’ dance mom you wouldn’t have a problem with it,” Rio replies, his voice dipping an octave in resentment, the not-so-discreet dig at the cause for their split emphasized by the steely gaze he levels her with.

She flinches involuntarily at his tone but forces herself to take a breath, composing herself in response to the cold barrier he’s erected around himself. It’s self defense, that much she can read off him, because it’s a mechanism she’s learned to use all too well herself since meeting him.

“Every decision I’ve made has been for my kids,” Beth seethes, keeping her voice level and short for the sake of the little boy who has now wandered over to one of the stools of the kitchen counter. She observes Rio, who monitors his son as he clamors his way up the chair to rest his arms on the counter. She anticipates another dig from him when he turns his attention back on her, but his crossness has seemed to diminish as a hint of a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah?” He utters so quietly it’s almost an afterthought, his voice laced with tamped-down amusement as he raises his eyebrows in mock surprise.

She clenches her teeth to keep from snapping at him. An unnerved sensation crawls up her back and comes to rest at the peak of her spine because Rio has always had a way of knowing her better than she knows herself without really knowing her at all. How he reveals so much awareness in one statement without truly giving anything away is as baffling as it is infuriating.

He knows she was in it for more than her children, maybe knew before she had realized it herself.

The acknowledgement of this fact remains unspoken between them as she turns her attention back to Marcus, taking quiet steps around the counter until she’s parallel with where he’s seated at the island.

“Marcus, can I get you something to drink?” She asks softly, and he perks his head up from where he was fiddling with his hands to meet her eyes, giving her an eager nod of his head.

Beth smiles earnestly at him before moving to the fridge, the glow of it illuminating her face as she scans its contents. She senses a gaze on her, although she should be unfazed by it, and tilts her head to the left instinctually. With one hand on the fridge door and one resting on a juice box, Rio’s sharp gaze pulls her eyes to his, and a full-blown smirk has adorned his striking features in a dramatic contrast to the expression he had been wearing minutes ago.

And she knows, because, evidently, they’re skilled at reading each other’s minds, that he’s thinking of their position in this kitchen all those weeks ago when she had invited him back home with her. When she had attempted to stifle the nerves running ramped in her gut by offering him something to eat without really having anything to give him but herself.

Beth forces a lid on her thoughts before they can spiral out of control and stabs the straw through the seal on the juice box with a little more force than was necessary. She places it in front of Marcus and rounds the counter to rest in front of Rio once again, holding his gaze with a fiery rebellion in her eyes.

“And what if you’re wrong?” She inquires with a manufactured air of valiance, referring to his earlier claim that she wouldn’t have an issue with watching his son. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d be watching Marcus tonight, not liking the idea one bit of where he’d end up if this business really was as urgent as Rio claimed it to be, but it had to have taken a great deal of confidence and trust she wouldn’t have previously thought him to have in her to make such an assumption.

He takes a step towards her, the action a perplexing mix between tentative and self-assured, so that his chest is a hair-length’s width from hers and he’s looking down at her. While their height difference is nearly imperceptible when she has her heels on, it strikes her like it did then, them standing homogeneous to the time they shared in her bedroom, how she has to tilt her head to be level with his piercing stare.

“Somethin’ tells me you’ve had a lotta time on your hands lately, mama,” he rumbles, and there it is again, the subtle dig he can’t help but make and while yes, it gets to her, it reveals something about him that he himself isn’t even aware of.

She scoffs, a cruel smile spreading across her face at the irony of his current situation.

“You need me.”

And she thinks, for an instant, that she sees something vulnerable and raw flash through his eyes as she peers, unwavering, into them, but it’s gone the next moment, replaced by the mask he always slipped on so often when she got too close for comfort. It seems foolish now, considering she’s been close in more ways than one, for him to have to conceal himself around her, but their dance wouldn’t be theirs if one of them wasn’t taking a step back.

He grins, a mischievous and unruly thing, before responding, “Mama, you have no idea.”

The spell around them is broken in the same instant that heat licks up her chest and neck, dusting her cheeks a shade of crimson at his insinuation, because of course he would make it like that. He wasn’t prepared to let her in any further than the surface she’s just barely scratched.

And she realizes she wants him to, but knows there are far too many variables to count that would hinder achieving such a desire.

So she steps back, dragging her eyes from his immoderately handsome face to settle her gaze back on Marcus. He rests with his elbow against the counter, head resting in his hand as he sips the rest of his juice box, indifferent to the worlds of the adults in the room and the tension that drips from every syllable exchanged between them.

Rio clears his throat and moves towards his son, wrapping a hand around his shoulder as he places a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. The action softens Beth to him slightly, and she wraps her arms around herself subconsciously. She feels like she’s intruding on a private moment, despite Rio being a professional at intruding and having had a handful of private moments with him herself.

“I’ll be back real soon, Pop. You be good for Miss Elizabeth, yeah?” He says quietly to his son, ruffling his hair affectionately before rising to his full height. Marcus nods at him enthusiastically, hoping off the stool to wrap both arms around Rio’s hips, and Rio grins earnestly at him while giving his shoulder a warm squeeze.

Marcus disentangles his arms from around Rio and takes a tentative step towards Beth, tugging on the sleeve of her blouse. She glances down at him in question before crouching to his height, and he graces her with yet another toothy smile.

“Do you have any shows on the TV, Miss Elizabeth?” He asks before swinging his arm towards the television in the next room. Beth feels what can only be Rio’s gaze on her again but steels herself, focusing her full attention on answering Marcus’ question.

“You’ll have to tell me what your favorite shows are so we can look for them,” she replies with a smile before rising from her crouch and holding her hand out for him to take. He does so, and as she begins to walk them towards the living room she glances back over her shoulder.

Her kitchen is empty, save for a crushed juice box resting on the island.


End file.
